


Dream

by yoohoopuddin



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-19
Updated: 2013-08-19
Packaged: 2017-12-24 01:38:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/933620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoohoopuddin/pseuds/yoohoopuddin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It must have been a dream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dream

The rustle of his sheets being cast aside; the crawl towards him, ruddy palms splayed upon linen - curling in the flimsy fabric; an eager bite - pain nestling into his craned neck; nails gnawing at the teeming seems of his underwear, shedding of such a useless sling of material, replacing it with a firm, welcomed grip; murmurs tickling at the shell of his ear, reminding him that he wants this, he’s always wanted this (saw you watching, saw you drooling) - drenching his stirring groin with a laving lap of criticality.

This is what he remembers.

Clothes billowing to the floor - a shirt strewn across the remnants of a shattered bottle; gasps coiling in the arduous grapple for a huff of air - snakes wrestling for that satisfying crunch of a kill; grease clinging to matted strands of hair - drowning wandering fingers as they tug and tear; a smothering smirk as he grunts that yes, yes, need this; a back - scratched to shreds, talons clawed at the tender flesh - colliding with the panicked shrill of the headboard. 

This is what he remembers. But it must have been a dream. 

Fingertips burrowing into the taut wing of skin lacing his hips; a plump mouth slathering a wet clutter of kisses across his jaw; a cock, straining - yearning for him, pleading for Sebastian (oh god, please, Sebastian) - grinding against his own, swathing him with the crushing nirvana of friction; dark eyes glazed, clouded with the veiled film of lust - a cloak concealing every speck of light splintered amid that sea of rust that didn’t scream want you, want you, want you; a moan fluttering across the flushed heave of his chest. 

This is what he remembers. But it must have been a dream. Even as he looks down.

Cherry dappled lips quivering as cries - whines, groans, sobs - are wretched from a tattered throat; the arc of a shuddering spine - hobbled with the jut of bone; the creases stark against heavy lids, lashes soaked with a grotty dew; sweat slicking a wrinkled brow - glistening beads raining over an ashen complexion; the strung slope of shoulder blades painted with the rosy buds of bruises, a marble canvas splattered with the sick vermillions, navies and violets that only he could craft with the harsh bristles of sinking teeth.

This is what he remembers. But it must have been a dream. Even as he looks down. And counts the scars and bruises.

Arses bouncing; cocks leaking as they scrape for the last dregs of touch, touch me, touch me; rasped warnings, threats, promises - jolting dizzied thoughts - Jim, Jim, Jim (christ, fuck, shit, JIM!); a fleeting whirr of sheer ecstasy; the flood of come as it smears the heave of abdomens - dribbling its vulgar spit; the stench that wafts at prickled nostrils; the finality of the act - the realisation. 

This is what he remembers. But it must have been a dream. Even as he looks down. And counts the scars and bruises. Oh Jim, Sebastian thinks, it must have been a dream.


End file.
